


Hidden language of the soul

by annebenedicte



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebenedicte/pseuds/annebenedicte
Summary: A variation on how Bernie and Serena met ...They're still both surgeons, but with an added twist ;the timeline gets twisted too, but not that muchTakes place after the IED accident though.





	1. Chapter 1

All the way to the community centre, Bernie Wolfe chain-smoked and grumbled. Neither of them was what the doctor had ordered. Grumbling was unproductive, and she had been told in no uncertain terms that her lungs had been damaged by the IED blast, and that she should bin her cigarettes now and there. She couldn’t, though – didn’t want to! It felt so good to do something Marcus didn’t approve of… Not that she gave a damn about Marcus thought anyway but … Or rather, she did care, and she wanted not too. She hadn’t lasted long in the marital home, back into the folds of her loving family…exactly a fortnight, actually. Not that Marcus had been difficult to live with. On the contrary, he had been very accommodating, especially when she had reaffirmed she was going to leave the Army. He had even agreed to sleep in the spare room when she’d told him her ribs and her scars hurt too much when he moved around during the night. The one she couldn’t live with was herself – she had done too much damage …Of course, Marcus didn’t know anything …But she knew – she would always know. There was a Alex-shaped scar on her heart, which hurt terribly too, even more than the physical scar – especially at night.

She remembered what the Army shrink had said when she had had her debrief: “You shouldn’t bottle it up, Major. I know you surgeons think you can heal everything with scalpels and sutures, but psychological injury is real injury. Psychological trauma is still trauma. Being blown up by that IED has left you with hidden scars, and if you don’t talk about it …” She’d smirked and said she would consider therapy…when hell freezes over! She hadn’t put it quite like that, but he had understood quite well.  And now she was on her way to something even more ludicrous than therapy…

When Jac Naylor had told her to book herself for physiotherapy sessions, she had reluctantly agreed, but when she had learnt the sessions would also include massages, would have to be at 7.30 in the morning since the physio was fully booked and at the other end of the town, she had bailed… She wasn’t stupid enough, however, to think she would be back fighting fit without doing anything – nor intelligent enough, apparently, to keep the physio from telling Ms Naylor she wasn’t attending the sessions…The latter, in a clever blackmail scheme, had given her an ultimatum – she would block her application to Holby if she didn’t take care of her physical rehab. Jac Naylor had only partially relented and suggested she attended the class to which she was headed …Jac’s daughter Emma raved about it…And in a moment of madness, because she did respect Jac Naylor’s skills as a consultant, Bernie had agreed …

When she had phoned, she’d been told yoga pants, socks and a t-shirt would do, and that’s what she had brought – or her version of it anyway – army-delivered sweats and khaki t-shirt. She found the changing room easily enough, but the smallish room was crammed full of women of all ages. At least she wouldn’t be the oldest one, she thought, espying several grey heads, and even two white ones. The sound level was impressive and she decided to find somewhere else to change. She didn’t want to make chit-chat with anyone, and she knew that the angry red scars on her body would probably fuel the gossip for a few weeks. She found refuge in the men’s locker room, empty at the time – they all probably favoured the gym, she thought. And she would have, too – sometimes a good dose of testosterone made for a healthier atmosphere than a lot a cackling women. However, her injuries made it impossible for her to lift weights or to do any strenuous exercise – she would have to suffer through the class.

She changed, and when she heard the women moving, she followed them tentatively into the studio. While the others positioned themselves around the room, she remained standing, not quite sure what to do – this wasn’t her natural environment… A woman strode towards her and looked her over: “You must be my new student ? The one who phoned?

\- Yes – Major BereniceWolfe …I mean …Bernie, Bernie Wolfe.

\- Welcome to my class, Major.”

The voice wasn’t particularly warm, but nor was it harsh – if anything, it was …dispassionate. Bernie thought the brunette must be about her own age – a little shorter and plumper, dressed all in black – black yoga pants and a black tunic. Not leaving Bernie the time to say she’d rather be called Bernie or even to ask her name, the brunette put a hand on her arm and led her towards a space between two other women: “Here – just do what Stephanie does on one side, and what Rachel does on the other. If you pay attention and listen to the music, you’ll be fine.” And she strode away, leaving Bernie bristling at the idea that she could possibly be inattentive… She could do it – she just had to focus!

At the end of the hour and a half, Bernie had to admit that either the IED accident had indeed reduced her powers of concentration – something Guy Self had warned her about – or that she was really not in her element. Well …that she knew already, but …Maybe when you began as a kid it was easy, but …Apparently she could fire a gun, drive a tank, order a team of medics and perform intricate surgery, but when it came to bending her knees correctly or doing a tendu or a rond de jambe, her body refused to cooperate. Her mind actually rebelled first – not at the French terms – her A-Level French came back quite easily - but at the fact that the terms didn’t mean what they said… A rond de jambe was not a circle, but a half-circle, a pas de chat was not a step but a jump and could be performed without a cat, and a fondu had nothing to do with melting on the spot because of the heat in the studio. The teacher even made her believe she had to learn to walk, and Bernie almost giggled at the idea of striding in a hospital hallway or on a base like they did across the studio at the end of the class. Almost, but not quite, because she was exhausted and in a rotten mood. She hated not being able to do everything perfectly – or at least adequately – the first time… As soon as the students curtseyed, signalling the end of the class, she fled out of the studio, and didn’t even bother to change back into her street clothes. She just grabbed her bag and snatch her cigarettes out of her coat pocket …


	2. Chapter 2

Bernie still had a fortnight to go before she began at Holby – if Jac Naylor didn’t go on putting spokes in her wheel – but she had promised to give back some paperwork, and all but ran into her nemesis in a corridor:

“Ms Wolfe – how did you find the class?

\- Ms Naylor – I wouldn’t ask me that if I were you – I might not be able to control my vocabulary…”

Jac Naylor smiled: “Really? That bad? What teacher did you have?

\- No idea – a brunette with the manners of an army general – and I know several of those, so I can compare!

\- Ah – I see” For a second Jac Naylor’s face darkened. “I know who you mean. Listen, Wolfe – cut her some slack, will you? She hasn’t had an easy time of it lately.

\- I’ll cut her some slack all right – I’m never going back there!

-Oh yes you are, Major – I hadn’t taken you for a quitter! And remember …I can still go and see Henrik Hanssen.”

Bernie grimaced – of course she wouldn’t quit, but … “You know what, Naylor? I hate you!”

 

All too soon, the day of her second class came by. The only silver lining was that the brunette hadn’t lied on the phone. Even though some of the students wore tights and tunics, others wore tracksuits, or even shorts. Moreover, they were a friendly bunch, and a few of them smiled and said hello when she arrived. Bernie chose a place at the barre as far from the piano and as hidden as possible. She thought she could get away with it until the brunette arrived, scanned the room, and came to drag her out and to sandwich her between two more advanced students again. Bernie scowled – although she could see the wisdom in it …she wasn’t happy about it! If during the last class the teacher had largely ignored her, this time she seemed to be the only focus of her attention – the brunette kept on nagging at her, coming to move her arm or her leg, or to force her feet to turn out. Each time, Bernie flinched – she hated to be touched, by anyone. It had taken her ages to feel comfortable with Marcus, and Alex had had to “tame” her, in a way – a stranger’s hands, sometimes not too gentle, were more than unwelcome.

When it came to centre work and diagonals, the brunette even stopped the whole class and asked a more advanced student to demonstrate especially for Bernie, making her do the steps again and again until she was able to perform them correctly. Blushing bright red and cursing the woman, Bernie managed to hold her temper till the end of the class, but only just. She didn’t trust herself to say anything, though, so like the previous time she escaped without a word, just nodding her head to the other students.

Meanwhile, life went on…She had moved to a hotel, leaving most of her things at the “family home”. She was still not sure she wouldn’t go back to the Army – the shrink had given her the all clear, and her body would heal, given time. She had signed a contract to work at Holby Hospital, but only as a locum. That way, she wouldn’t be tied down. Marcus was being difficult. He phoned her several times a week and left her texts – sometimes two or more a day. He didn’t understand – and she couldn’t explain. The kids were away at uni – they hadn’t told them anything yet. Cameron and Charlotte were used to her being away, and she didn’t think it would matter to them that much. Moreover, Marcus insisted they tell them together, and as they were both working all hours, they couldn’t seem to synchronise their agendas. She was glad she had a little money saved, because she found civilian life difficult, and staying at a hotel certainly helped. At least she had no housework to do, and she could always call room service for food. Or order a pizza… She didn’t have to make up the bed, and the maids even tidied up for her. Heaven, even if the rest was rather hellish!

Working at Holby was …challenging, to say the least. Her colleagues had welcomed her warmly – at least most of them – but she knew her bedside manner left a lot to be desired, and she’d already dodged a bullet as a patient retracted the complaint she’d made against her. Sasha Livy was a darling, and she enjoyed working with him – others, like Ric Griffins, were more – testing, but she could handle him. And then Alex …coming like that, without notice …stirring up everything again …every emotion she’d tried to bury …Giving her butterflies in her stomach, and leaving … In normal times, she could have handled Ric Griffins …But she was so tired all the time. The IED accident had really taken its toll. She felt fragile – lost. She had thought she could do without Alex – and yet …she wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing was certain anymore, and nothing was worse than uncertainty. Ballet class seemed just another waste of energy, but she had given Jac her word, and so she dragged herself there every Tuesday evening.

The last time, the teacher had seemed a little absent, and she hadn’t breathed down her neck quite so much. She had finally learnt her name, too, as she’d heard younger students address her as Miss Campbell. Bernie found that a little ridiculous, but apparently it was the “ballet way” – she just never intended to use it!  This Tuesday, she had to rush to make it to class – theatre had been longer than planned – complications on a splenic artery operation, and she slipped at her usual place – she’d learnt by now it was no use trying to hide – almost ten minutes late. She had been as discreet as possible and was just congratulating herself on not having been notice when she heard the brunette state patronisingly: “It is customary to wait before an exercise is over before interrupting a class, Major – please remember next time you intend to be late.” Bernie’s blood boiled, and of course she made twice as many mistakes as usual. And Miss Campbell didn’t let anything pass, going as far as dragging her off the barre to use her as an example to the class when correcting her port de bras. This time, Bernie decided to have it out with her. Instead of skipping out as usual at the end, she approached the brunette.

“May I have a word with you?

\- Of course, Major, but be quick – I’d quite like to go home – it’s been a long day.

\- For me too, actually…Look – I know I’m not the most flexible person, and …I’ve just been in a rather severe accident, so my body doesn’t cooperate as much as I’d like, but …could you just …leave me alone for a while? I’m sure I’d do better if  you weren’t on my back all the time.”

Bernie swallowed audibly, and the brunette looked at her coldly: “Listen, Major – you do whatever you want with your soldiers, and I do whatever I want with my students…That’s the deal – take it or leave it. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my nephew is waiting for me.”

As Serena Campbell strode away, Bernie only managed a feeble : “And don’t call me Major!” The woman was infuriating!


	3. Chapter 3

They’d all ganged up on her – Ric, the therapist …even Henrik Hanssen had suggested she took up a hobby.  It would give her something to do and would be less stressful than going back to AAU full-time. No one was irreplaceable, they’d told her – and she had to admit Ric was quite up to the task. Anyway, she would go back – someday – someday soon. She still dealt with much of the admin at work, but she hadn’t been back into the actual hospital since …Well, since the day she’d tried to, and had had a panic attack. Even the colour of the walls in the hallway reminded her of Elinor. How just the day of her accident, her daughter had come to show her the article she’d written about AAU. And how she’d asked her to wait, because of course, work came first – people were dying! People were always dying and it was her job to save them. But then Jason had told Elinor her mum wasn’t CEO anymore, and all hell had broken lose…Her daughter had accused her of never being there for her, of being too busy at work to care about what happened to her … of being “in love with those pukey-green hospital walls”… And then she’d got into the car …and then …And then she had been one of those dying people she was supposed to save, and she hadn’t managed to …She hadn’t been able to save her own daughter.

When Ric had heard the young ballet mistress at the community centre had to take maternity leave, he had suggested Serena take her place – not forever, just till she felt able to come back to the hospital full time. He knew what she was going through and seeing her in mourning reminded him of when he’d lost his eldest. He had taken her to Albies’ and …That was the trouble when you tended to drown your sorrows in alcohol …You spilt out your darkest secrets …and apparently Ric hadn’t been as wasted as she’d been that day, because he remembered everything …How Adrienne had put her in a ballet class at 3…How she had gone from the local dancing school to White Lodge …How she’d studied there intensively …And how she’d been rejected by the Royal Ballet at 16. Her audition had gone splendidly …everyone had thought she was a shoe-in …and just before the second call-in …the last step …she’d been late …She’d rushed to cross Drury Lane without looking …the cab was going too fast to stop …At the hospital, they’d told her she would be fine …She would have to wear a cast, but the bones would mend …A normal person would have been fine …A dancer with a ruptured Achille’s tendon, a hairline fracture at the base of her spine and a broken knee was over. Adrienne would never have been satisfied with an average daughter …if Serena couldn’t be a prima ballerina, she would  have be a top surgeon …

The class she ended up teaching at least didn’t remind her of her physical limitations. She had never been able to reach her former level, but she was still fit and supple – more so than most of the students, who came in all ages and shapes and levels of fitness. However, she found it hard to be with people. Luckily for her, most of the women who came to her class didn’t expect her to be all perky and rainbowy – the myth of the dour ballet mistress stood her in good stead… They wanted to keep fit, and to sweat – she could help them with that. Anyway, it had become easier as the days went on, and she was now on friendly terms with most of them – not very chatty, but … Most of them – all of them, actually …with one exception! Major Berenice bloody Wolfe. The woman was maddening!

She didn’t know the first thing about ballet etiquette, or even ballet, but that didn’t matter. Many of the others had come to the class as beginners. What infuriated Serena with Bernie was that she could feel resistance emanate from every fibre of her body – a body which was made for ballet! The blonde had the perfect physique for it – long limbs, a slim figure, naturally arched feet … If she was honest with herself, Serena was just a little bit jealous – controlling her weight during her childhood and adolescence had left her with a tendency to pile on the pounds if she as much as inhaled the scent of pastries, and as she had lost much of her self-control along the years, she tended not to be content with smelling them…

All the others would kill for a tenth of the attention she got, and the Major got offended whenever Serena tried to help her or correct her … And the bloody woman hadn’t even had the sense to tell her she’d been injured … Well, she would just wash her hands of Major Wolfe …See if she cared!

 

The next Tuesday, Bernie was on time. In fact, she was ten minutes early. The pianist was early too, as she could hear music coming from the studio… Bit more jazzy than usual… When she came in, she went straight to the barre, not giving a glance at the piano. Only when the brunette demonstrated the first exercise and ended by “Thank you, Ric” did Bernie lift her head and look at the piano. She was so astonished that she swallowed wrong and of course she missed the first step. Of all the people named Ric …it would be the one …the one she’d been in theatre with only that morning. What on earth was he doing there?  She was even more surprised not to have Serena Campbell jump on her for her mistake …or maybe as surprised …

She tried to slink out at the end of the class, but her bag was wedged in a corner by others and she wasn’t quick enough to avoid Ric. She would have pretended not to see him but he was just out the building smoking. She acknowledged him with a nod:

“M. Griffin

\- Ms Wolfe – fancy seeing you here…Didn’t know you were one of those bunheads.

\- What is it to you, Rocky? Or maybe I should say Stevie? Quite the musician…

\- Just lending a hand to a friend and co… Serena asked me, I was free, and I said yes – it may have escaped your notice, Major, but it’s only a community centre, not a fully-fledged ballet school – no stereo, and Serena’s broke this morning. So when her pianist cancelled …

\- Yes …quite ...Well …I…”

Bernie bit her lips – she hated to beg, but she really didn’t want the whole hospital to know she was taking a ballet class. The rumour mill was already going strong about her …an ex-husband coming to her workplace, and a patient outing her in the ward were hardly going to pass unnoticed. She swallowed and said in a small voice: “Ric …I really would appreciate it if …no one …heard about this …”

She didn’t dare look into his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle: “Don’t worry, Major – they won’t hear anything from me. They wouldn’t mind, though, because Serena…” He stopped, hesitated, and then obviously changed his mind. “See you in theatre, Ms Wolfe.”

Serena had seen the exchange from afar, and she hoped Ric would keep her secret. There was no need for that stuck-up army Major to know she was a consultant. This wouldn’t last forever – the woman would probably bugger off to her regiment and she herself would go back to AAU. She just needed a little more time to lick her wounds.


	4. Chapter 4

What a sonofabitch! Marcus had decided to play nasty, and they were fighting about money. Or rather, he was fighting and she was taking the blows. Most of their assets had been frozen, and until the situation was resolved, she had to be careful with her finances. She’d moved from her four-star hotel to a small rented studio – a sterile white box with minimum furniture. There was an open-plan “kitchen”, a small living-room area and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed which took up most of the floor space. The building was not in the best possible condition, but she didn’t spend much time there anyway – once her shift was over, she usually had no wish to go back to it When she realised that she tended to go to a bar and order whiskies instead of going home, she switched to a coffee shop opened 24/7 in the vicinity of the hospital. She couldn’t let herself become an alcoholic because she missed the easy companionship she had in the army. She missed more than that, actually – she also missed her special someone, but she couldn’t bring herself to try and recontact Alex…Her words still rang in her head – everything Alex had said was true – she’d hurt her and the last thing she wanted was to hurt her again. Alcohol did help to numb the pain of loneliness, but it wasn’t a solution.

Marcus had also done a sterling job in picturing her as a cheating, lying bitch. At least she supposed he had, because neither of the children were speaking to her. Charlotte had always been more of a daddy’s girl, so it wasn’t that surprising, but to have Cameron take his father’s side was unexpected and deeply wounding. She had tried to see them, to explain, but they didn’t answer her texts or her phone calls.

 

As she grumpily changed into her usual ballet class attire, Bernie felt even more ratty than usual. From the time she had woken up to a few minutes previously, her day had gone from bad to worse. When she’d gotten up at 6.30, she had made a beeline for her small kitchen area for coffee – instant, of course, not the best kind, but at least strong and hot. She didn’t stock much food in the flat – she had no time for cooking – but she had a few packets of biscuits and some cereal. As she opened the tiny fridge before remembering that once again, she’d forgotten to buy milk on her way home the previous night, she saw something dart across the floor. She rubbed her eyes, and thought she definitely needed more sleep – she didn’t hold with pills, but if she went on having four-hours nights, she would really be in trouble. She took her biscuits and her mug of coffee to the couch, and as she took her first blissful – well, bitter and boiling hot – sip of coffee, she saw the thing moving again, and almost choked on her coffee. A mouse! She had a mouse in her flat! And a well-fed one too – Bernie wondered where it found the food…She had no time to go rodent-catching, but she certainly didn’t want to share her small abode with a furry grey animal – if she’d wanted a pet, she would have taken in a dog – a very large dog – not a mouse.

Then she had arrived on the ward with an extra-large coffee from Pulses, someone had jostled her and half the cup had ended up on her pale pink coat – the F1 had apologised profusely and offered to take the coat to the cleaners for her. She’d accepted, knowing she had no time for that kind of errand. Meanwhile, she would either have to contact Marcus to know when she could come by the house and pick up the rest of her clothes – and her second coat – or buy a new one. Neither of those solutions appealed… And because it was one of those days …they lost a patient in theatre …The man had come in in a critical condition, having fallen from a scaffold, but …she’d thought they would save him …Until he arrested three times and …”Time of death, 6.45.” The words she hated more than any others.

All this explained why when she walked into the studio, Bernie wasn’t in the best of moods. As the lesson progressed, she found herself wanting to somehow make the day right…and to prove to Miss Serena Campbell she wasn’t completely useless… A few classes before, she had finally mastered the right-hand turns – the pirouettes…they were still a bit wobbly and maybe more three-quarters turns than full ones, but at least she knew which way to turn. So when it came to the diagonals, she launched herself full force into the first pirouette – and a second later she was sprawled on the floor. She didn’t wait for the teacher to reach her before getting up and she scrambled painfully up to her feet, blushing bright red.

“Are you all right, Major?

  * I’m fine, thank you. And I told you to stop calling me major!”



As she was walking back to the end of the queue, Bernie muttered: “And if you weren’t such a crummy teacher, this wouldn’t have happened.” Not very loudly, but loudly enough for the brunette to hear, and to blush in her turn, but with anger. Oh, crap! Bernie hadn’t meant for her to hear…or maybe she had, a little, but …She rubbed her sore hip and her shoulder – they’d taught her to fall in the army, but not when doing a pirouette. She had hit the floor in an awkward position. And she would have to apologise – the concerned look in Serena Campbell’s eyes had turned to a dark, incensed one.

When the class was over, Bernie lingered near the door, waiting for the brunette to gather her bags. The one small mercy was that the usual pianist had resumed his duty, and so she hadn’t made a fool of herself in front of Ric. Just in front of the brunette and a dozen women.  It seemed to Bernie that Serena was taking even more time than usual packing up. When at last the brunette strode towards her,  Bernie took a deep breath and began:

“Miss Campbell …I …I’m sorry – I owe you an apology…”

The brunette glared at her: “Have you ever heard the saying that if you’re apologising, it means you shouldn’t have done it in the first place?

\- Well …yes, of course, but …”

Bernie lowered her eyes and bit her lips. Serena suddenly noticed that there was blood on the blonde’s t-shirt: “You’re bleeding! Let me see.

\- It’s nothing – I told you I’m fine.

\- Let me see – I’m a …”

Serena stopped dead – she’d nearly blurted out her secret.

“I’m all right – really. And if not – I can take care of myself. Look - I’m sorry – I’ve had a lousy day, and …I took it out on you.

\- Oh really? One of your little missiles didn’t reach its targets and annihilated a school instead? I guess it’s easier to play at war in the safety of an office, Major?”

Bernie’s lips set in a thin line: “You know nothing about me, Miss Campbell – I would appreciate it if you didn’t make fallacious assumptions.

\- I won’t if you do me the same courtesy, Major.”

On that, Serena closed the door of the studio, locked it and walked away, leaving Bernie seething.  As she peeled off her t-shirt in the changing room, she saw the origin of the blood – the zip of her trousers must have ripped off some of the sutures she still had on her lower abdomen, and one of her scars had been freshly opened. The perfect ghastly ending to an already ghastly day. She should probably have made straight for the hospital and asked a colleague to suture it again, but she was too exhausted to consider it. She still had a first-aid medical kit in her pack, and as she’d taken that to her new flat with her …she would make do with self-care and steristrips. She was angry enough not to feel the pain. How dare that woman think she was one of those army pen-pushers!


	5. Chapter 5

Only much later, after midnight, as she tried without success to find something on Netflix to help her fall asleep did Bernie grudgingly acknowledge to herself that the brunette had no means of knowing otherwise. She hadn’t told her anything about her, and she’d never seen her naked – the numerous scars that had joined her neat caesarean line attested to her presence on the front line, but …Of course, she didn’t want Serena Campbell to see her naked – so why was she thinking about that! She took another sip of hot chocolate – she’d forbidden herself to buy any alcohol for the flat. She wondered why the woman got under her skin so much – it wasn’t as if they were colleagues and she had to see her every day…It was only one hour and a half per week – not even a full evening. And yet she often crept into her thoughts, unbidden. There was something about Serena Campbell that made Bernie want to …take care of her, maybe? Several times during the classes, Serena’s unguarded expressions had hinted at deep sorrow and it touched Bernie in an indefinable way. She was bossy and opinionated, but also strangely vulnerable.

 

Once back home, in the house that had seemed to grow larger and colder after Elinor’s death, Serena poured herself a large glass of red wine and went to sit in her favourite armchair, near the fireplace. Her nephew Jason was staying with his former carer Allan, and she was enjoying the peace and quiet. At least that was what she was trying to convince herself of – because every moment she spent alone in the house reminded her of Elinor’s childhood. She didn’t have to look at the pictures adorning the mantelpiece to see her colouring at the table, or playing with her dolls on the carpet, or later on, studying, body on the floor and feet on the couch… The psychotherapy sessions didn’t help, and everyone kept telling her that it would get better. She didn’t believe them – there was no expiry date on grief.

She probably shouldn’t have been so aggressive with the blonde – she’d come to apologise, and she’d bitten her head off in return. Not that the comment hadn’t hurt – right now, Serena considered herself a crap mother, a crap consultant who couldn’t even set foot in her workplace, so she was probably a crap teacher as well…But she shouldn’t have made that comment about desk jobs – because after all, all she did right now was paperwork, so …It wasn’t that different. She should probably apologise too – if the blonde ever set back in her class again.

 

The next Tuesday, Serena saw with a mixture of relief and apprehension that the Major was back in class, in her usual place. She noticed too her set expression and thought that if the blonde had been a cartoon character, she would have had a little black cloud hovering over her head. Not that she was much more cheerful – she’d dreamt of her daughter the night before – her daughter, happy, laughing, running on a beach …and suddenly they were both running, Elinor was running towards the sea, deeper and deeper…and all she could do was scream as her daughter disappeared in the waves and she stood rooted to the spot on the beach, powerless.

When the teacher approached her at the end of the class, Bernie eyed her warily. It had taken her all her courage to come back, but maybe the brunette wanted to tell her she wasn’t welcome anymore…

“I’m sorry”

Bernie gaped at Serena: “Excuse me?

\- I said I’m sorry – that comment on desk jobs – and on the army – it was uncalled for. I wanted to apologise. Truce?

\- Truce.”

Afterwards, Bernie wondered why she had suggested they went for a drink. An offer which was accepted. The two women left together and as they both had their cars, they agreed to meet in one of the local pubs. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in an alcove booth, with wine for Serena and a G&T for Bernie. Bernie caved first – the silence got to her, and she had to say something: “I’m a trauma surgeon – that’s why I didn’t need your help.

Serena gaped: “I’m sorry – you’re what?”

“I’m a trauma surgeon”, repeated Bernie patiently. “I was – well I still am, but …I served in the RAMC. Last deployed in Afghanistan – that’s why I was bleeding – one of the wounds opened up again. I …well, it’s a long story, but I’m not sure I’ll go back – I probably will, but meanwhile, I’m working at Holby Hospital.”

She noticed that the brunette was clasping her glass in a vice-like grip: “I would relax, if I were you, Miss Campbell – I don’t have my suture kit on me, and if this glass breaks, I’ll have to take you to the emergency room…”

Serena gulped and murmured: “I probably have mine in my car…

\- Excuse me?

\- My suture kit I mean …I’m a surgeon too. In normal times, AAU’s boss and vascular consultant at Holby.”

It was Bernie’s turn to gape: “But…the class?

\- I’m just a stand-in. I do have the training, but …I lost my daughter a little while ago, and …well, I couldn’t cope, so they gave me some time off, and a friend pushed me into it. Well, actually, you probably know him as well – Ric – consultant surgeon and pianist extraordinaire. He’s had …personal experience of grief, and he told me I couldn’t just remain idle. So …The class.

\- I’m so sorry, Miss Campbell.

\- Serena, please?

\- All right – as long as you call me Bernie.”

 

_As the evening progressed, conversation flowed more easily, and the two women found themselves on the way to become friends. The invitation was followed by another one coming from Serena this time …and another … When they began to work together in AAU, they were already firm friends …Neither of them realised their mutual attraction, until that day when they were so exhausted that they sat on the floor after having saved Fletch’s life… Their bodies leant against each other, their heads bended, their lips met …_

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Martha Graham (Dance is the hidden language of the soul)


End file.
